Wicked Games
by CrazyCollectionDuck
Summary: Dean's mom is gone. Forced live with rich relatives he never knew existed he counts the days. Everyone looks at him sideways, except Roman. After a skirmish in the parking lot, Roman tries to make it up to him, inviting him to a party. Dean says no at first, but ends up going anyway. No one told him till it was too late; a Murder Mystery Party, great- Murder's not a game at all.
1. Chapter 1

Six months. That was how long Dean Ambrose had been in Connecticut. It was the longest he'd spent in any one place in all his nearly eighteen years, at least sleeping in the same bed every night, anyway. He'd lived in Cincinnati for the past two years, just moved around a lot. Technically he was born there, so the first three years of his life could be added to the most recent two for a grand total of five years in the same city. Still, he didn't remember them, so he didn't count them.

Six months suddenly felt far too long.

Dean felt restless. Not that he wasn't always restless, but today was worse than usual. During moments like these, especially when he was in the cafeteria, with its high ceilings and sardine like capacity, he concentrated on the former. Dean fidgeted taking a discrete deep breath, but the air felt stuffy, oppressive, and far too warm. He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to relax his muscles, but they snapped opened when a bright light, a muzzle flash, he thought panicking a bit, lit up his eye lids.

"Sorry," a girl he thought was called Brie said, looking a bit sheepish holding a camera loosely in her grasp, when he glared at her, his heart pounding. "You looked serene."

Dean's only response was a growl, which made Brie shrink back a bit causing him a twinge of guilt. He was almost positive she meant no harm, but it sent his nerves on edge, bringing back memories he'd sooner forget completely. The urgent need to get away was overwhelming. Quickly, without a word or looking at her, Dean abruptly pushed back from the table. The clatter of his chair falling over drew the eyes of everyone around him, but he continued with his head down.

The brisk winds of early Spring and over cast sky didn't deter him from his impromptu escape. Weather only registered as far as whether or not it was would kill him anymore anyway. Connecticut's weather was similar to Cincinnati's and he'd certainly been out in worse for much longer than it took to get back to his Uncle's. His phone vibrating only irritated him farther, knowing it was probably his cousin, Charlotte, telling him to "stop being such a fucking spaz".

It only served to spur him on, he lengthened his stride.

Dean tapped his collar bone; a nervous tick he'd long been rid of- until his world had been turned upside down and he'd wound up here, with rich relatives he hadn't even known existed – as he reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket for his near empty pack of cigarettes. Dozens of sets of eyes continued to watch him as he shoved open the door; he ignored them.

Even as he strode across the parking lot towards his bike and breathed in the chilly air, he felt trapped, confined; like he just needed to go. With a slightly trembling hand he attempted to light his first cigarette of the day. It was a habit he hated to have, not because of the obvious "it'll kill you" reason, but because it made it feel like he was relying on something other than himself. The flame flickered out for the fourth time.

"Fuck!"

Dean threw his lighter down on the asphalt in frustration and it shattered.

"Fuck!"

Dean kicked the now completely useless lighter across the parking lot as he approached his bike, which was the one of the only things he'd brought with him from his old life. Dean loved his bike, so while the urge to kick that too was nearly overwhelming, he settled for leaning against it and running his hands roughly through his hair.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Dean alternating between tugging a bit harder than necessary on his hair and rubbing his eyes. It was better than the twitching. His reaction felt ridiculous and a bit extreme to him too, but it was as though everything was sort of piling up. The phone in his pocket vibrated again and without reading it he knew it was his cousin threatening him not to cut, therefore, ruin another one of her weekends. He wasn't exactly keen on spending another entire weekend with her either.

Uncle Rick wasn't a bad guy; not really. He cared, a lot, at least about Charlotte, and seemingly Dean too. When he'd shown up in Cincinnati out of the blue after Dean's mom was gone with tears in his eyes to bring Dean "home", claiming he never stopped looking for his sister or Dean, for that matter, Dean was suspicious. His mom always told them they had no family, it was just them, so he told the old man to fuck off when he opened his arms to embrace him.

Dean's mom had lied; at least according to the police. Dean did indeed have a family; at least an uncle and a cousin. He even had a fucking trust fund, his uncle had set up once Dean's grandparents had passed and he redoubled his efforts to find them. It was impossible, especially considering all the nights he'd gone hungry or without heat.

Still, at seventeen, Dean had no choice, even if he had been responsible for paying most of the bills since he was old enough to work, he wasn't an adult.

Uncle Rick had insisted on starting anew and most of Dean's things were discarded. Not that Dean had much to discard, or anything really worth saving, but he'd worked hard for what he did have. He would have told the old man to fuck off again, but as soon as his Uncle Rick caught sight of the photos his mom had set out on the end table he began crying.

It only got worse when he caught a glimpse of the blood splattered on the kitchen tile.

Apparently, it was Dean's responsibility, once the crime scene technicians were done, of course, to have the mess cleaned up. At least that was what the letter their sleazy landlord sent him a week after he'd moved said. Dean had no idea whether someone had cleaned up the mess yet or not. He'd just dropped the letter after reading and re-reading it in shock, before taking off. He never received another one so he assumed someone had taken care of it, though he didn't care enough to ask.

It was uncomfortable, but genuine, and it made Dean's eyes sting too, so he held his tongue. His mom had been a lot of things, but she was still his mom, and he missed her. Instead of admitting it or comforting the overwhelmed strange old man crying over his baby pictures, which was unsettling enough- no one had ever cared about him or his mom enough to look twice, let alone shed tears over their misfortunes- he began throwing things away. He only insisted on keeping his jacket and his bike.

His Uncle had readily agreed after apologizing for his insensitivity at breaking down when he should be the one offering comfort at such a time, but Dean shrugged him off, and only nodded when his Uncle promised to get him new parts for his bike to make up for it.

Dean wasn't wholly sure this strange turn of events was even real, or if he was going nuts after what happened, but he didn't want anyone's pity or concern. He hated people asking him how he was doing, or if he was okay. He was; he had to be. So, even if he was unsure about, well everything, he went with it. He didn't exactly have a choice.

Meeting Charlotte had eased some of his lingering suspicions, if only because that had been his mother's name too, but she was every bit the stuck up bitch he'd assumed she'd be. At least at first glance; when he'd taken it all at face value.

Dean's new home was nearly as big as his entire apartment building. It looked like one of those pre-colonial homes, but bigger, with a yard large enough for a couple full-sized football fields. It was beyond him what two people would need with so much space. He'd spent most of his life in one room or studio apartments, run-down motels when things got tight, or for a few nights, on the streets for one reason or another. That part didn't really make him mad, not really, the pity in his Uncle's eyes when he glanced at him nervously, however, did.

His anger and irritation only got worse when he entered the castle masquerading as a home, and he came face to face with Charlotte, who was standing with her hip and eye brow cocked, in a kitchen bigger than the entirety of his last apartment. She wasn't sneering at him, more so appraising him warily. He couldn't blame her really, because he was guilty of the same, and he had already been convinced she was going to be his worst nightmare.

It was actually oddly comforting and he found himself relieved at seeing no pity in her eyes.

"So, you're Orphan Annie," Charlotte finally said after a moment.

Dean saw his Uncle's eyes widen and his mouth open to chastised his daughter, but beat him to the punch.

"At your service," Dean replied mockingly with a deep bow. "Prince Charlie."

Charlotte looked nothing like a boy, even in her over-sized basketball sorts and large muscle shirt with hair pulled away from her face, but he remembered it annoyed his mom when people called her Charlie. His Uncles mouth snapped shut, and his eyes widened somehow farther, but as soon as Charlotte started forward it opened again.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that," Uncle Rick stepped between them slightly nervous, but Dean swore he saw an amused glint in his cousin's eyes, and for some reason it made him have to fight a smirk. "It's been a long… day," his Uncle decided after an awkward pause before continuing quickly. "Dave, can you please show Dean to his suite?"

Dean saw the man, who looked more like a body guard than a butler nod, but ignored his "right this way," in favor of holding his cousin's eyes for another long moment. They'd come to an understanding of sorts and she gave him a faux bright smile.

"Night, night, Annie," Charlotte wiggled her fingers, her tone sweeter than he thought possible.

"A pleasant evening to you as well," Dean replied haughtily, bowing low, then smirked as he straightened up with a tip of his non-existent hat. "Charlie."

His cousin flipped him off, his Uncle Rick let out an exasperated sigh, but Dean smiled for the first time in what felt like forever once his back was turned.

That was six long months ago, and the easy, seemingly hostile relationship with his cousin was the only somewhat okay part of his new life. They had an odd kinship born of sarcasm and mutual experience with the whole "cover and not the book" thing. Charlotte was an All-American basketball player; ridiculously hard-working and talented as fuck, but obviously her success was due solely to her fathers. Dean appreciated the way she played the part too, even when it was with him. He actually preferred it that way, and none of it ever diminished her determination or work ethic.

Dean could appreciate that even more.

His Uncle wasn't not okay, but he was a bit aloof, and full of guilt and pity, so Dean avoided him mostly. It made him uncomfortable. The only thing good that came of any of that was it'd led his Uncle to keep his promise about the new parts for his bike. Probably the only truly good thing about his new life really; his bike ran better than it ever had.

Dean had the money in his pocket in the form of a credit card to buy a brand new one himself, if he wanted, but it made his Uncle happy to be able to give him the parts. Uncle Rick actually enjoyed handing them to him. He even sat and watched him work sometimes with a strange smile on his face. It wasn't all that awful, so Dean let him.

Besides, he didn't want a new bike, so the parts were nice, especially since no one bothered or questioned him when he was working.

Everything else wasn't as okay, though. School wasn't too hard, not the learning part, anyway. He was behind having missed quite a bit over the past few years; bills had to be paid. His mom hadn't been okay as she once was- tired she'd always said- so it fell on him. Still, he caught up, with Mr. Piper's help, sure, but he'd done it.

Almost everyone else just looked at him like he was some sort of alien. Some were in awe of his chevalier attitude, and "bad boy" reputation, which he wasn't too sure he'd earned. Still, even those people stayed away from him and eyed him side-ways, because most everyone else looked at him as though he was something they'd just scrapped off of their designer shoes. It was irritating, but he did his best to ignore it, promising himself he'd be out of there right after he graduated; something he never thought he'd be able to do.

Six months of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dean ignored another pang of guilt as he made his decision with one final tug on his messy strawberry blonde hair, as well as the urge to pull his phone out and text Charlotte an apology. That would have to wait; after mid-night no one could make him do anything.

"Here man," a smooth deep voice that sent a shiver up his spine just as he was about to push away from his bike caused his head to jerk up.

Roman; Dean simply blinked at the ridiculously gorgeous guy standing in front of him, holding out a lighter, with a worried crease etched in his brow. Of course it was Roman. Dean narrowed his eyes mostly out of habit, but partially in irritation. Roman Reigns was the only person in this god-forsaken school that never looked at him like he was an alien or with the pity that surfaced once the rumors of why he'd suddenly turned up began to circulate. Dean still didn't know who was responsible for that, though he did know it wasn't Charlotte, which made it simultaneously easier and harder to handle.

He would miss her, if only a little.

Roman, who only ever smiled at him warmly, or glanced at him concernedly when he deemed it necessary, but never with pity. Roman, who always said good morning in homeroom, and good afternoon in study hall when he took the seat beside him. Roman; the one person who treated him like a human being at all times. The worst person for him to see once he'd made the decision to go.

"Just offering a light man," Roman reassured him nodding at the outstretched lighter.

Had it been anyone else, Dean would have probably found the automatic reassurance suspicious. Dean found a lot of things suspicious. It was part of his survival instincts; which had kept him alive thus far. He needed them, even in Suburban Hell, or especially in Suburban Hell. Dean hated to admit it, but his amazing survival instincts, the ones that had kept him alive thus far, told him he could trust Roman, told him it was okay to relax; if just a little.

Naturally, that threw him off; made him slightly more fidgety, which was embarrassing, especially when Roman caught him off guard.

"You don't smoke," was what came out when Dean realized Roman was waiting for a response.

"No," Roman chuckled a bit sheepishly, but Dean was too busy kicking himself to notice. "Does that mean you don't want it, then?"

"Yes, no, I mean- I just…" Dean trailed off flushing and wondered if his "bad boy" reputation would survive someone happening upon this bumbling conversation, but that suddenly didn't matter when Roman's smile widened, so Dean said the first thing that came to mind. "Why do you have a lighter?"

"Does it matter?" this time Dean noticed Roman's sheepish smile and swore his cheeks were flushing too.

Dean had no idea why, but it made him feel better.

"Guess not," Dean chuckled a little feeling more comfortable. "Thanks man."

Instead of handing over the lighter, Roman sparked it and held it out for him. There was a strange flutter in Dean's chest and while his inherent suspiciousness wanted to scowl, the rest of him was fighting a smile. It felt a bit weird, if he was being honest, but not in a bad way.

As Dean leaned forward he felt Roman's eyes on him and though it wasn't exactly an odd thing to do, Dean felt his face flush farther, when he cupped his hands around Roman's to hold the flame steady. Pushing away the shiver caused by the strange spark that accompanied the contact, Dean puffed quickly and pulled away as soon as his cigarette was partially lit.

"Thanks," Dean let out a stream of smoke as his eyes darted away from Roman, who he found watching him intently when he looked up.

"Anytime," Roman replied in a way that made Dean look up at him.

"What?" Dean snapped a bit feeling self-conscious at finding Roman's intense gaze again.

"Nothing," Roman said quickly, it was his turn to look away, but he looked back just as quickly, this time his eyes shone with unbridled worry. "I just- are you okay Dean?"

"What?" Dean wasn't really expecting that.

"Well," Roman scuffed his boot looking away again. "When you walked out, you looked… You're not leaving are you?"

"Leaving?" Dean's surprise was evident in his voice.

"Don't," Roman implored seriously after an extended silence.

When Dean had left the cafeteria he'd only meant to get away, not leave. He hadn't decided that until he was actually outside. Normally, he might've growled or laughed, maybe even offered up a threat, anything to defer the unease he was feeling, but the sincerity in Roman's eyes and voice threw him. They weren't friends or anything. Sure, he was probably the only person besides Charlotte, Dean acknowledged, but they weren't friends; not really.

"Why?"

"Don't," Roman's voice was firm in a way that made him feel like he was being given an order, which normally would have made him bristle, but the pleading that mixed with the worry in his eyes made Dean's chest feel funny. "Just- don't, okay?"

Dean held Roman's eyes for a long moment, looking for anything aside from what he'd already picked up on. There was no real reason for any of it; the worry and definitely not the pleading. It made him feel- weird. Not uncomfortable, which he would have accepted easily, but a mixture of suspicious disbelief, and, well, warmth. The last succeeded in making him feel a bit uncomfortable now though, and while he wasn't sure exactly why, he felt compelled to speak.

"Roman…" Dean started, but an irritated voice cut him off.

"Roman!"

Both Dean and Roman's heads snapped around and Dean had to suppress a growl when he caught sight of Seth Rollins. Seth was Roman's best friend as well as the prettiest boy Dean had ever seen. Hell, he was prettier than most girls Dean knew. Seth wasn't exactly mean to him, he mostly ignored him like everyone else, but Dean was certain he was Satan incarnate. Especially when Seth, followed by Kevin Owens, a guy Dean thought was called Daniel, and the twins, whose names he didn't remember, began to talk over him as though he wasn't there.

"What are you doing out here?" Seth questioned then continued in a firm voice without waiting for a response. "You're going to miss class, Roman, and you can't miss class, because we have a game tomorrow and you can't miss practice for detention."

"Aye, aye Captain," Roman was unconcerned with Seth's attitude. "I'm just talking to Dean. I wasn't going to miss class." Roman held up his hand suddenly looking very serious. "Scouts Honor."

Dean laughed, it surprised him too, but it was kind of funny seeing someone who looked like Roman so serious while referencing the Boy Scouts. Then suddenly he was picturing him in one of those goofy uniforms. It made him laugh harder.

"Boy Scouts," Dean was still chuckling a bit when he spoke. "That explains the lighter then."

Roman looked absolutely delighted for a moment then serious again, though Dean could see he was trying not to laugh too, while Seth scowled, the twins simply looked a bit confused, and Owens looked wholly unconcerned.

"Eagle Scout," Roman replied pompously, amusement sparking in his steel grey eyes. "Thank you very much."

"You think this is funny?" Seth questioned sharply over Dean's renewed laughter.

Suddenly Roman didn't look amused, but concerned.

"Seth, what…"

"I might be your best friend, Roman," Seth cut him off. "But I'm still the Captain of the baseball team, and you signed the contract. I won't feel bad if I have to…"

"Seth," Roman's voice was full of warning, which startled Dean a bit, though he didn't let it show.

"No, Roman," Seth didn't back down, but his voice lost some of its authority. "I won't let you."

"Let him what?" Dean couldn't stop himself when there was an extended pause and everyone looked a bit sheepish.

Dean felt his face flush, because he thought he knew what they were talking about. The way his heart sank out of nowhere made his face flush farther in anger. He was sure he should just walk away, leave, but he couldn't.

"Let him what, Rollins?"

"Dean…" Roman put a hand on his shoulder and the fact that Dean felt himself relax a bit made him swat it away all the more quickly.

"Let you what?" he turned on Roman.

"Don't play stupid, Ambrose," Seth cut in nastily. "You can do whatever you want, I don't care, but Roman's my best friend, and I won't let him. I'm also the Captain of the baseball team; I have a responsibility, so you can go peddle your drugs somewhere else."

"What?" Dean pulled up short, surprise unseating his anger for a moment.

Drugs?

"Seth that's not…" Roman's voice and eyes were pleading this time, but Seth cut him off again.

"Why the hell else would you be talking to him?"

Dean's momentary surprise and confusion were over shadowed by his renewed anger. Why else would Roman be talking to him? Of course, Roman didn't actually care, but the thought he'd come to him for drugs nearly made him sick.

"Drugs?" Dean managed looking at Roman for confirmation.

"Dean…" Roman said his name but was looking at Seth.

That made Dean's eyes sting, and that made him even angrier, especially when he turned to get on his bike, so he could get away like he planned, and Roman grabbed his arm.

"Don't," Roman's voice was full of command instead of pleading this time, and if it wasn't a natural instinct to protect himself, that would have been enough to elicit Dean's response.

Dean spun back around and shoved Roman away. He'd been stupid to think anyone actually saw him, especially someone like Roman. If he was being as honest, he was just as mad at himself, but Roman was the catalyst, and when he shoved him, he shoved him a bit hard. Roman's shocked expression as he landed on the asphalt barely registered before Dean was hit from behind. He stumbled into his bike, which tipped over.

By the time the second blow followed Dean was gone, and his survival instinct kicked in.

* * *

A/N: Hi guys! *waves excitedly* I've missed you. Real life and volatile muses have kept me away :-( I've decided to follow said volatile muses instead of trying to force anything, so this is what we get. Murder Mystery :-) Think "And Then There Were None", "Clue", "Party Games", and "Shutter Island" all rolled into one, lol. I don't know how long it's gonna be, but I have the first 6 chapters or so outlined. We'll see. I'm super stoked for this story and I hope you are too! Okay that's enough from me, lol, let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Cuts, bumps, bruises, even broken bones, as was the case with at least one of his knuckles, were nothing new to Dean, but the unease and knots plaguing his belly were. Pain he could handle, but the other stuff was bothering him. Especially, when he felt Roman's eyes on him from a few seats away where they were both stuck in detention. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on his split knuckles, and concentrate on Mr. Jericho's old C.D. player blasting 80's rock music.

Dean wasn't sure that was supposed to be allowed, but he also knew their Vice Principal, Mr. Regal, had given up on telling Mr. Jericho, their showy drama teacher who had tenure, what he could and couldn't do after the last time he'd tried to take away said C.D. player. It was sort of amusing having class outside when the V.P. couldn't shut the P.A. system off, which had been playing "Schools Out" from first bell, but he still thought Jericho could be a bit douchy. Right now he was pretty grateful for the distraction that was "Welcome to the Jungle."

That was until he recalled it was all about drugs, which was what had landed them in detention in the first place. Even if it was only sort of, it was the reason he could feel Roman's eye's on him.

Dean squeezed his fist closed concentrating on the pain to keep himself from snapping at Roman to look somewhere else, or maybe apologize, because he had to miss practice when they had a game tomorrow. The fact he was even fighting the later only farther unsettled him.

Roman didn't even have to be here, not really. Initially, Dean had been the only one singled out for punishment, because obviously it was all his fault. As soon as everything was broken up and Dean had given as good as he got, which was all that ever really mattered to him, especially when outnumbered, Coach Hayman was calling for his expulsion. Dean didn't want to care, but he felt his heart sink, even as he struggled to regain his breath, and his cousin shouted over coach Hayman calling bullshit.

"Charlie, shut up the fuck up," Dean snapped not wanting her to get in trouble too.

Suspension could jeopardize her scholarship; expulsion definitely would. If Seth was convinced Dean was nothing more than a no good drug dealer, so were others, and while he appreciated her creative threats, Dean didn't want her getting in trouble because of him, or deemed guilty by association. People knowing her "wayward" cousin had come to live with her was one thing, openly defending him was another.

"Language, Mr. Ambrose," Mrs. Guerrerro, the afternoon office aid, chastised. Dean wasn't sure how she heard him over all the rest, or why she was even there in the first place. "You're in enough trouble as is."

"Look at my team, William," Coach Hayman was still going and full of indignation gesturing to his players. "We have a game tomorrow and playoffs after that. This- this miscreant…"

"Was only fucking defending himself," Charlotte interjected heatedly.

Dean noticed no one chastised her for her language, but his glare was more so for her blatant disregard for his order she stay out of it. The rest was bad enough without ruining her future too. Everyone did, however, stop shouting.

"Roman put hands on him first," Charlotte ignored Dean's glare and set her own on the aforementioned offender. "Dean's an idiot, but he's not stupid. 6 on 1- not even Dean's that much of an idiot."

"Shut the fuck up, Charlotte," Dean growled at noticing much of the gathered crowd was looking at her as if seeing her in a whole new light.

The use of her proper name more so than anything else made his cousin pull up short, and while she shot him an angry look, he could have sworn she looked almost hurt.

"Language!" Mrs. Guerrerro chastised again, but it was over shadowed by Coach Hayman.

"My pitcher, Roman Reigns," Coach sounded like he was giving an opening statement in a courtroom. "Would never, and I mean never…"

"It's true," Roman cut in suddenly and loudly. "I would; I did."

"What?" Hayman looked at him wide eyed.

"It was a misunderstanding," Roman added quickly glancing at Dean then back at Mr. Regal. "But it's true. I grabbed him first."

"Well, then," Mr. Regal said after a moment. "We have an, um, no tolerance…"

"They were just trying to break up the fight," Roman interjected with another nervous glance at Dean. "They had nothing to do with it. It was our fault."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Roman, who was begging him to back up his story, but at the same time he could tell he didn't really expect him to. Dean wasn't too keen on taking the fall for everyone, especially since he was sure Seth was the reason he had blood all over his face and jacket, but he was clearly going to be punished regardless. Besides, Dean was no snitch, not to mention Charlotte would go down with the rest.

Dean remained silent.

"Is that true?" Regal turned to Dean, and while he wasn't sure why in the hell he was asking him considering they wouldn't have believed him if he'd been the one to make the claim in the first place, Dean nodded. Regal sort of narrowed his eyes at Dean as if he was trying to see whether or not he was telling the truth, then sighed, "very well, to the nurse for those that need it, the others to class."

The V.P. motioned to the other kids who had gathered off to one side away from him and Roman looking beyond relieved at being let off the hook, aside from Charlotte who was sort of in the middle, too busy alternating her glare between Roman and Dean.

"As for you two," Regal turned his attentions back to Roman and Dean, though no one else had made a move to go anywhere, "we have a no tol…"

"Vice Principal Regal," Coach Hayman interjected when he realized Roman's confession put him in league with Dean, who he'd just been insisting be expelled. "Considering it was just a misunderstanding, and at least Mr. Reigns' first infraction, don't you think expulsion may be a bit extreme?"

Dean fought not to roll his eyes. Of course, no tolerance policy or not, now that the schools star pitcher faced expulsion the policy would become "no tolerance, except for in the case of a misunderstanding, especially when play offs start in two weeks". Not, that he didn't feel an irritating swell of hope that he too would fall under that clause when they swept the whole thing under the rug, even if he wasn't staying.

He'd never been expelled and he was sort of proud of that fact.

"Play-offs start soon, and…" Hayman continued when Regal paused to contemplate the situation.

"Detention," Regal said before Hayman could spell out the real reason for his leniency; they were favorites for state this year. "Both of you, after school with Mr. Jericho."

"Vice Principal Regal, we have practice…" Mr. Hayman began, but the bell rang cutting him off, and Mr. Regal spoke before he could pick up where he left off.

"Off you get, you lot," Regal waved at them impatiently as though he was trying to disperse a pesky flock of pigeons. "The nurse or class. Definitely the nurse for you Ambrose, if not a hospital, and you Uso," Dean realized he must've been talking to one of the twins, most likely the one spitting blood. "You- Jey…"

"I'm Jimmy," the guy corrected.

"Nurse, the rest of you, go now," Regal ignored the correction. "And detention for you two; 3:00."

Mr. Regal looked a bit flustered and clapped his hands at them as if to stay "chop, chop". Dean planned on hanging towards the back a bit. When the others were farther away he'd climb on his bike and head for a destination yet unknown; to freedom. Charlotte, who guessed his mind, gripped his shoulders firmly, and forcefully guided him towards the school. After everything, even if he did think she was stupid, he didn't want to spit in her face by taking off right away. He let her.

Dean wasn't supposed to care about anyone. Just him and his mom, because no one else would care about them, or so she said. That wasn't the case anymore, with his mom gone; it was only him. There was Charlotte now. Charlotte was family, so that was okay, right?

That train of thought stung and surprised him; Dean had the urge to flee once again.

It was nearly overwhelming. He was going to give into it, but suddenly Roman was right beside him. It was hard enough to ignore him when he was halfway across the room, it was impossible when he was right there. Dean glared at him as best he could with his left eye nearly swollen shut.

Roman looked as perfect as ever, even with the scratch across his cheek where Charlotte had caught him in her haste to put him in a head lock.

"Dean," Roman started.

The sound of his name on Roman's lips made it more difficult to keep his glare.

"Don't," Dean said sharply repeating Roman's earlier word and tone.

"I need to apologize," Roman told him anyway. "I am so sorry for…"

"It's whatever," Dean said quickly not wanting to hear what Roman was or wasn't sorry for; it would only amplify which parts were the cause of Dean's upset stomach, and he didn't want to know.

"It's not whatever, Dean," Roman insisted.

Roman's eyes were earnest and warm as they scanned Deans bruised, cut and swollen face. Dean could almost feel how sorry he was. He had to look away when he noticed Roman's eyes were shinning in a way that made his own throat feel tight. He clenched his hand in another tight fist. This time re-opening his split knuckles, concentrating solely on the pain.

"Dean," Roman sounded alarmed, but that didn't fully register, because Roman's hands were suddenly gently urging his to open.

"It is," Dean snatched his hands back, slightly grateful for his new bruises when he felt his face flush.

"It isn't," Roman insisted, but didn't reach for Dean's hands again. "I am sorry Dean. I wasn't- I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, thanks," Dean snapped sarcastically, thinking of how much better off he was before Roman had showed up, which was saying something, because he wasn't exactly in good shape before that.

The look on Roman's face made him want to take it back, but he didn't know how, so he looked down at his hands again, hunching his shoulders letting his hair fall forward, covering his now marred face.

"I guess I deserved that," Roman said quietly after clearing his throat.

Dean wanted to tell him he didn't, not really. It was Seth, not Roman, but he remained silent. Instead, he told himself he shouldn't even be talking to Roman. Especially, because he'd made up his mind. When he suddenly found Mr. Regal and a couple other teachers breaking up the fight, as Charlotte refused to release the head lock she had on Roman, and blood cascaded from Dean's split eyebrow, he decided he _had_ to go. It was a mess; he was a mess.

Dean felt like he was suffocating.

"Dean," Roman's voice was soft, and as much as Dean hated himself for it, he couldn't not look at him. "I am really, really, sorry."

This time he could absolutely feel how sorry Roman was, but he could only blink at him. His inherent suspicion bubbled up. What exactly was it that Roman was sorry for? Dean shook his head; he didn't want to know. He'd already decided that too.

"I really just wanted to talk to you- to make sure you were alright," Roman continued when he received no response. "I like talking to you, or at you, I guess is more accurate."

Dean was taken aback by Roman's candidness. His glare softened, if only minutely and his brow furrowed a bit though it stung. Roman took courage from it.

"That right there- you- sometimes…" Roman's eyes darted away as he searched for words, embarrassed, maybe, but it didn't stop him from continuing. Dean respected that. "Sometimes I get a genuine reaction, when I'm lucky you respond, and when I'm really lucky you smile. Well, sort of smile, but when you do, I- like it."

Dean realized Roman was blushing, and it caused his stomach to do a little summer sault, even as the knots tied themselves tighter. He wanted to ask Roman what he meant when he said he liked it, to explain it in detail, but didn't know how. His face burned, the thought made him feel stupid, so he ducked his head.

No one ever really wanted to spend time with him, not like- that. While Charlotte often showed up at random times to annoy him or poke fun at him, it was because she had nothing else better to do. This seemed different though, like Roman felt like it was all some sort of- privilege. As though he thought Dean's sort of smiles were something to be treasured- a prize of some sort.

The lack of warning bells and suspicion, made him suspicious. The strange ache in his chest made him fidget. It wasn't right. No one cared about Dean, not really. No one ever had. His mom had tried for a while, but even she got too- tired; of life, of him. Roman looked sincere, absolutely genuine- he couldn't be, though. Dean scowled as Roman opened his mouth to elaborate, maybe, but he never got a word out.

"This is sweet and all," Mr. Jericho cut in startling them.

They both flushed brilliantly and quickly moved away from one another. Dean was suddenly aware the music had stopped, and of just how close he and Roman had been.

"But I got places to be; people to do, vamoose."

Had it been any other teacher, Dean might've thought Jericho was trying to be funny, angling to be the "cool" teacher, but the dude was just weird.

"Let's go," Jericho clapped before scooping his already packed shit into his arms. "Detention ended ten minutes ago, out."

Seeing Mr. Jericho was serious, and conscious of his own sudden disappointment at knowing his time with Roman was up, Dean quickly popped up and hurried for the door.

"Excellent, Mr. Ambrose," Dean didn't respond to Mr. Jericho's praise, he just kept his head down, and heard him next address Roman. "Mr. Reigns, that is your cue as well."

Dean was already five paces out the door by the time he heard Roma's chair push back, scraping across the floor, which echoed down the empty hallway. The fact he wanted to slow down and wait caused him to pick up the pace. Roman was dangerous in a whole new way; a way Dean never fathomed anyone could be, at least to him. Survival was his focus for so long; attachments were pointless. Romantic attachments were ridiculous, not that Roman would ever want him. Not like he was becoming painfully aware he wanted Roman.

Everyone left him anyway. This whole town was dangerous: Suburban Hell. He was waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under his feet.

"Dean!" Roman called after him.

The sudden warmth that flooded through him, was more unsettling than any sort of warning bell.

"Dean!" Roman wasn't giving up even as Dean ducked his head, counting the steps to the door. "Wait up!"

No, Dean wouldn't wait; he couldn't. He had to keep going. Ignoring the uncomfortable pull in his gut, he pressed on.

"Dean," he loved and hated the way his name sounded on Roman's lips. "Please!"

His feet betrayed him, his steps faltered. Roman was much closer now, having jogged up behind him. The hair on his neck stood on end for different reasons than he was accustomed to. Reasons he refused to acknowledged.

"Dean, please."

Dean stopped abruptly, but it felt as though it was against his will, as his body warring with his mind. It caused his anger to flare.

"Why do you say my name so fucking much?" Dean was sure he could have made it the final five steps to freedom had the other man not continuously called his name, which despite the bleeding that made his chest ache had never sounded so- nice.

"Because," Roman's face held a mixture of relief, slight irritation and sheepishness. "When I don't, you ignore me."

"What?" he wasn't sure whether it was the actual words or the way _cute_ , suddenly popped into his head, but he was thrown; again.

Roman was either blushing or flushed from his short jog. Dean's brain quickly decided it was the former without permission. His eyes shone with sincerity, but there was a small scowl on his face, which Dean somehow knew wasn't directed him, but at himself.

"You don't have to explain…"

"When I used to talk to you, like in the beginning, when you first got here, you ignored me," Roman cut him off, speaking quickly, and unmistakably blushing, now. "I wasn't going to give up, though." Roman smiled shyly and his eyes darted away for a second. "After a couple weeks, I noticed that if someone said your name, you looked, so I thought I'd try it too, before I gave up, ya know? Not that I wanted to," Roman assured him quickly. "But I didn't want you to like hate me either- anyway, well, it worked, and I- well… "

Roman actually ducked his head chuckling embarrassed, and the word _cute_ popped in Dean's head again.

"What?" Roman cocked his head quizzically and Dean felt mortified at realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Dean had never so much as thought the word cute, not really, anyway. He'd certainly never spoken it aloud. It was an insult, right up there with adorable, or precious; whatever else people who spent too much time looking at cat pictures on the internet had in their vocabulary. Roman was nothing like those stupid pictures, he was- Dean shook his head to rid himself of that line of thinking.

Had Roman called him cute he would have taken offense, and he didn't want to get into another fight, especially about something so embarrassing. Dean just turned away, his face burning.

"Dean, wait, I'm sorry…"

Dean was positive Roman was going to grab him, just like he had earlier, so his instincts had him spinning on his heal. Roman had already begun to snatch his hand back before he completed his rotation.

"Sorry," there it was again; an apology.

No one ever apologized to Dean, and certainly not this much, it was weird; suspicious.

"I didn't- I just…" Roman ran his hands roughly through his hair, and Dean found a part of him wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

Once again, mortified he took a step back. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Please, Dean, don't go," Roman said as soon as his shoe scuffed the ground in his retreat. "I'm no good at this."

Roman shook his head. Dean had the urge to ask him what he meant by "this", but remembered Seth's words. Why else would Roman be talking to him?

"Listen man," Dean sort of snapped finding his anger again. "I don't do, or sell drugs, so just leave me alone, okay?"

Roman was the one that looked mortified this time, but Dean ignored the sting the hurt in his eyes caused him and pressed on.

"Tell your friends too, just…" Dean found it hard to speak the words again. The ones that put the hurt in Roman's eyes, but the thought that, maybe, it was more disappointment at him not having drugs than actual hurt allowed him to continue firmly. "Leave. Me. Alone."

There is was again. That look like Dean had just suckered punched him. It made his chest ache. I made him want to apologize, to comfort him; something. Dean pushed it away, as concerned voices echoed down the hallway.

"Roman?"

"Annie?"

Dean spun back around to see the twins and Charlotte standing by the door, looking apprehensive, a bit confused, but tense. He had no idea how hadn't heard it open.

"Uce?" one of the twins, the one with the busted lip, Jimmy, questioned in a way that Dean knew he was asking Roman if he was okay.

"I'm good," Roman responded quickly.

The twins relaxed, Charlotte scowled, and Dean let out an incredulous huff. He had just been trying to leave, again, but of course, it was the miscreants fault. Roman had started this whole fucking thing in the first place by bothering him. Not to mention gotten him jumped and almost expelled.

They wanted to know if Roman was okay? Un-fucking-believable.

"I didn't ask for this," Dean's voice echoed around them. "I didn't ask for _any_ of this."

He turned back on Roman, anger and hurt in his heart.

"Leave me the fuck alone," Dean growled, then turned back to the others. "All of you."

No one spoke for a beat, and for some reason that just made him madder, especially since they were all looking at him warily. Charlotte included, as though he was about to snap, and attack them. He was so mad he might have had he possessed less self-control.

"I fucking mean it."

Dean didn't wait for a response. He stormed passed, resisting the urge slam his shoulder into them. The weather had gone from over cast to fucking pouring. The temperature had dropped as well, it was cold, but Dean ignored it and stomped across the parking lot towards his bike. It was passed time he left.

"Annie!"

Charlotte's voice reached him despite the howling winds, but he pretended it didn't.

"Goddamnit, Dean!"

He almost stopped and turned around. The use of his given name told him she was actually distressed and being serious, but he couldn't chance stopping; not again.

"You are not fucking riding your goddamned bike home in this weather!"

She was closer this time, which told him she'd jogged to catch up with him, but he kept going, almost to his bike. Five paces.

"Dean, I swear to fucking god!"

Charlotte let her threat hang in the air as he reached his bike jamming his helmet on to his head. It hurt, and his swollen eye made it even more difficult to see on top of the rain. He didn't care, instead he started his bike. The rain pelting his helmet drowned out every other sound, which included Charlotte's shouting. He knew she'd be shouting at him, even without looking, which he didn't bothering doing before he took off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean was no longer chilled to the bone, and the pain had mostly subsided, leaving only his various cuts stinging a bit from showering. Despite his intentions to leave for good when he'd torn out of the parking lot without so much of a glance, when Charlotte had caught up too him in her little red sports car he knew she'd keep following him until he went home, or crashed. Now, he simply lay on his bed blinking up at his ceiling.

A lot of the time his new life felt like a dream, or sometimes a nightmare. He often had the urge to pinch himself. He resisted it, along with closing his eyes for as long as he could manage. Aside from the nightmares, his anxieties about suddenly waking up back in his old shitty apartment and life, struggling just to survive, plagued him nightly. Dean hated being afraid. Some nights were better than others, and he often wondered whether or not he would be better off just leaving.

The reality wasn't nearly as bad as the anticipation.

Tonight, though he struggled not to farther explore the why, was worse than usual. More than once he'd been ready to go. The decision had already been made, then reasons that were just as unsettling, or maybe even the cause of his fears stayed his feet.

Hope.

Hope; born of Charlotte's protectiveness, and understanding as well as the way his name sounded on Roman's lips. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to leave, not really, and it made it all the worse. Once again, his survival instincts screamed at him to run. Fear gripped him and he obliged, ignoring his body's protests Dean scrambled out of his overly large bed, tossing his too fluffy comforter on the floor. He began throwing everything he could reach into a duffle bag; everything but the credit cards.

He would keep the cash. He would need it. There were no strings attached; not like with credit cards, anyway. Once it was gone, it was gone.

Resisting the urge to take a last look at what had simultaneously been his safe haven, and his own personal hell, he headed for the door. Dean almost laughed, his hand poised to grasp the knob, when he caught the clock out of the corner of his eye, which read 12:00. A split second went by and he couldn't help it.

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him. Not real laughter, there was no amusement or joy in it, but mirthless; almost hysterical laughter. His bag slid from his shoulder with a dull thud. This was it, Dean was cracking up; it was finally happening.

Just as he was on the precipice of what felt like no return, a soft knock at the door somehow sobered him quickly. He wasn't sure how he even heard it, but he froze, his heart racing. There was another knock. Then the door creaked open. Dean stumbled back a bit unsure of what to expect. His were nerves on end, for more reasons than he would admit or accept.

" _Happy Birthday, to you_ …"

The voice was soft, quiet, and eerily familiar; Dean held his breath.

" _Happy Birthday, to you_ …"

The door creaked open farther; blood pounded in his ears.

" _Happy Birthday, dearest Deanie_ …"

"Mom?"

Dean's voice was barely audible, breathless. His eyes were wide; palms sweating.

" _Happy Birthday, to you_ …"

The door pushed all the way open, and behind it stood a figure, hands outstretched, cradling a cup cake impaled by a sparkler instead of a candle.

"Happy Birthday, Deanie."

The breath he'd been holding escaped in a gasp. Suddenly, he found himself on his ass; his feet tangled in his duffle bag straps. The shadow stepped into the room, obscured by the sparkler. Dean tried to scramble backwards, but his flailing limbs weren't cooperating, his feet only became more entangled.

"Annie?"

Dean stopped, blinking rapidly, his chest heaving, as the figure stepped farther into the room, suddenly bathed in pale moon light.

"Charlotte?"

Dean's body sagged in relief when Charlotte lowered the cupcake, coming into focus now that she was no longer obscured by the pyrotechnics. Annie, not Deanie.

"Who else would it be?" his cousin frowned, and even more so when her eyes fell the duffle bag trapping his feet.

"No one; nothing," her sincere concern, and his embarrassment at thinking it had been his mom had him finally able to scramble to his feet. He kicked his duffle bag away, "laundry."

Whatever she saw in his eyes caused her to nod and force a smile, though he knew she didn't believe him.

"What, Orphan Annie's too bad-ass for cupcakes now?"

Dean scoffed indignantly, grateful for her sarcastic teasing and keen ability to read him.

"Fine," Charlotte bristled then plucked out the sparkler. "Fuck you, more for me."

"Pshh," Dean snatched the giant cupcake as Charlotte exaggeratedly stuck out her tongue to lick off the icing. "Cupcakes are the epitome of bad-assery."

Dean was calming rapidly in the presence of his cousin, and her easy teasing caused his embarrassment to dissipate considerably, or at least distract him from it. Even the residual horror of being convinced he was seeing his mom faded. It was almost dizzying, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, and willed his heart rate to slow.

"You should get that on a t-shirt," Charlotte followed him out onto the balcony, and he felt her concerned gaze on his back, but she was trying for his sake.

When he'd first moved, he'd often escaped up to the roof when the finery, and his new seemingly too good to be true circumstances got to be too much. The first time Charlotte joined him, the day he got his landlord's letter, he'd been torn between anger and gratitude. Anger almost won out, it usually did, but when Charlotte simply lay beside him and trained her eyes on the stars just as he'd been, he let it go.

It then became their spot.

As Dean handed up his cupcake to Charlotte his survival instincts kicked in, screaming at him to run. However, the uncharacteristically warm smile Charlotte gave him caused the shouting to become more like whispering. It might have been a mistake, the whispering said so, but hope was a very dangerous thing.

"Ah, ah, ah," Charlotte chastised once he was settled beside her and reached for the cupcake. "You gotta make a wish first."

Dean narrowed his eyes as she held up the sparkler wearing a mischievous grin. He thought wishes were stupid, but he had never been one to turn down a challenge; ever. Smirking, he licked his forefinger and thumb, before clamping them down around the sparkling part of his make shift candle. It was something his mother had always done too, a family tradition apparently, so he knew it was impossible for him to blow it out, and just because he made a wish as it fizzled out.

It burned, but he barked out a laugh at the incredulous look on his cousin's face. This time it was a real laugh, and it felt good, so he kept laughing when she joined him once her surprise wore off.

"Why the hell didn't I think of that!?" Charlotte was still laughing as Dean plucked the cupcake from her hand smiling triumphantly. "I've been sharing my cupcakes my whole life! Does it hurt?"

"It's worth it," Dean shrugged smugly. "I love cupcakes."

Tradition dictated his success at putting out the sparkler meant he was entitled to eat the whole thing himself, but it was a rather large cupcake, so he pealed of the wrapper and carefully tried to split it down the middle. It worked okay. There were a lot of crumbs in his lap and a chunk fell onto the shingles, but the brilliant smile Charlotte gave him when he handed her half made that worth it too.

"Thanks!"

She was beaming and he allowed himself to smile back for a moment before digging in and averting his eyes to the stars. It was the best cupcake he'd ever eaten, and he was sure it had to do with more than the baker. It was also his absolute favorite; chocolate with vanilla icing; that made it even better. He wondered if it was Charlotte's favorite too; it had been his mom's as well. He didn't ask, though.

"What'd you wish for Annie?" Charlotte question after a long while.

They'd been laying side by side in comfortable silence.

"Like I'm telling you," Dean scoffed.

"Don't tell me you believe in that bullshit," it was Charlotte's turn to scoff.

Dean shrugged though she couldn't see him, because while he didn't really believe in it, why risk it; just in case.

"You of all people," he more heard her shake her head in amusement than anything else. "You're un-real, you know that, Annie?"

Dean shrugged again, but smiled, because her voice was laced with affection and he was sure if he turned his head he'd be greeted with the same warm smile she'd given him earlier. They fell quiet for another long moment, but it wasn't the comfortable silence from before. He could tell she had something to say. It made him a bit fidgety. Dean hated the anticipation. Fortunately, it didn't last much longer.

"Dean?" the use of his given name made him tense, and while she felt it, she pretended she didn't. "I'm glad you're here."

He didn't respond. He didn't know how, her words made his eyes sting a little, because he knew she meant it. If he was being honest, in that moment he was glad he was there too, so he nodded.

"Please don't leave."

Her voice was so quiet he wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it, so he pretended he didn't, but just in case he was, he scooted a bit until his arm was pressed against her. The intimate moment was rarity, but he found he sort of liked it, and as she leaned farther into him, he thought about how if his wish came true, he wouldn't have to, as well as realizing more than anything; he really didn't want to.


End file.
